Aftermath

The definition of the word "aftermath" is the consequences of a significant, unpleasant event. Two years ago this month I was declared cancer free. This has given me plenty of time to review the aftermath.

For the record, I will answer any cancery question you ask me. I will talk about every little detail if you want to know (and sometimes if you don't). But I have the hardest time talking about the aftermath. The life after cancer; a quite significant and unpleasant event. So I'm just going to dive on in.

Before cancer I knew exactly who I was. I was a fun, energetic teacher. Newlywed. Dependable. Reliable. Funny. Event planner. Photographer. Piano player. Crafter. Sewer, etc.

And then cancer.

I struggled teaching because I no longer had the energy to be the teacher I once was. I constantly felt like I was failing my students, coworkers, and myself.

I felt like I was failing John. I had zero energy to cook, clean, and tried so hard to be "present" in our marriage. He stood by me without hesitation and loved and supported me fiercely through the process. But I felt like I couldn't give back what was being given. And again, I felt guilty.

I couldn't be there for my friends as much as I used to or would have liked to be. I felt like I was failing them because again, they were giving so much to me, but what was I giving them?

I couldn't play the piano like I used to. Because of the mediport sewn into the right side of my chest, my arm would randomly go numb or limp in the middle of playing. Something that would bring me such joy now brought sadness and frustration.

I could go on, but you get the point.

So I adjusted to a new normal; a new identity. Instead of Mrs. Bragg, the teacher or Liz, wife and friend, or at church, Sister Bragg, the youth leader, I became the following: that bald teacher with cancer; Liz, our cancer friend (now in all fairness, I joked about that one and that's how I got the title); Sister Bragg, that woman at church with cancer.

How did I cope? I laughed. I made jokes. Laughing about cancer seemed so much easier than dealing with the emotions of it. But I jumped all in and figured I better make the best of it. So I accepted my new roles, my new titles, my new identity.

Then I was declared cancer free. I was so excited, relieved, and scared. My very next thought after "YES!!!!" was "Now what?" Our lives revolved so much around my doctor appointments, tests, scans, etc.; it was all we knew. It had become our normal. What would 'normal' look like now?

When people find out I am a cancer survivor, they always assume I had breast or ovarian cancer. This doesn't bother me at all. They are two very common cancers for women, and kind of like the flagship cancers for women. What does bother me is when they find out I didn't have either of those; I had Hodgkin's Lymphoma. And then they say, "Oh. Well...that's not really cancer, cancer. I mean, your life wasn't in danger." Or "Oh, so you were just like, really sick, right? That's one of those 'light' cancers? Like, not really cancer?" Or my favorite, "Well, thank goodness you had an easy cancer! It couldn't have been that bad."

This created a huge crack in my emotional mentality about cancer. I was rejected by some people in the cancer community because to them, I didn't have "a real cancer." After I was declared cancer free I was told by people at work/church/the grocery store that because I didn't have an "aggressive" or again, a "real" cancer that I would have no problem jumping right back into life as it was before and I needed to "get over it and get on with my life." All these people assumed that because my cancer was what it was, that I was fine. That I should be fine. That I was back to that horrible word of 'normal.'

My doctors kept talking about a new, new normal. How life would be different, never the same as before, but I'd be fine. But in the past two years I have been having a hard time finding my new, new normal, my new identity.

My initial reaction was Destiny's Child, "I'm a survivor!" Heck yeah, I battled cancer and LIVED! But there was that crack in my mentality. I was being rejected or scoffed at for not being cancery enough. So my survival didn't seem like such a big deal to me anymore. My attitude turned to, "Yay, we're done with that. Guess I should move on."

In the past couple of years as my body has adjusted to life after cancer, it has done some weird things. There have been more tests and scans because different things come up and given my history, my doctors take it seriously and act fast. Just this past February I was scanned and tested because my doctors had a legitimate concern that cancer had made a comeback. Thank goodness it was a no, but my first reaction of the possibility of it being cancer again was PEACE. I was legitimately at peace with the thought of having cancer again because I knew who I was when I had cancer. I knew that identity. I knew my role. The thought of "been there, done that," was comforting to me because maybe people wouldn't reject or judge me for having an easy cancer if it came back. I could be the cancer girl, again. I could go back to something I knew and accepted and lived through. But I was so unsure of the now.

I know that now I'm tired. I get weirdly sick. Again, my body does weird things and just like me, it's just trying to find its new place in the world. I have a hard time remembering things; more so than before. I don't remember half of the dates John and I went on before we were married. Sometimes I ask him to tell me a dating story, and he tells me about one of the dates we went on that I can't remember any more. He even has to remind me of some details about our wedding day. I'm recognizing that people get uncomfortable or tired of me talking about cancer. So I'm learning to not talk about it unless asked about it. And to those people who are tired of hearing about it, I apologize. To quote the beginning of my post, it was a significant and unpleasant event that has changed me. I'm having a hard time letting go of my past identity. Forgive me. I also know that I am different. A little harsher, but at the same time a little softer. I cry a lot at little things. I'm showing up more for my marriage and partnership with John. I'm showing up more for my students, and I'm trying to show up more for myself. I'm also learning some people don't like that, and are having a hard time accepting my new focus. That has rattled me as well. I have always prided myself on being a true Hufflepuff: a fierce and loyal friend. In this new effort to find myself, I am finding that I am losing people and that is heartbreaking to me.

So in this two year aftermath, I have come to the conclusion that I am under construction. Parts of me are finished, some parts of me need to be refined or done over, and other parts are still being demolished, planned, and rebuilt. For now, I just need to accept it and love myself for where I am. I need to recognize that I fought a battle and WON. Cancer, is cancer, is cancer. With the help of God and those around me, I gave my all and survived. I need to accept my survivorship (new word) and find my way through the aftermath.

Did you know there is a second definition for aftermath? In farming terms it means "new grass growing after mowing or harvest." Interesting. :)